


Poetically Stopped

by eudaimon



Category: Amanda Palmer (Musician)
Genre: Apocalypse, F/F, Songfic (Sort of), sad songs are beautiful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 04:39:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eudaimon/pseuds/eudaimon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was no surprise it was an American who first set foot on the moon; when we ran out of 'west', we started migrating up and out.  Amanda mourns the loss of her love, the Astronaut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poetically Stopped

**Author's Note:**

  * For [knitmeapony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knitmeapony/gifts).



> Just a little thing, from me to you. This is number one in a series I intend to write based on Amanda Palmer songs which, should you feel the urge, you can probably trace through the archive.
> 
> [Ampersand](http://archiveofourown.org/works/37895) | [Astronaut](http://archiveofourown.org/works/38185) | [Another Year](http://archiveofourown.org/works/38252)
> 
> Lots of love, and Merry Christmas!

The world's been ending for a while now, and I don't just mean me and her. I mean, we're over, I'm sure we're over, but that doesn't mean I don't love her and that doesn't mean I'm ready for her to go. People are going all the time now, but they always were. Instead of heading west, we're heading up and out and far-away, and if I can't go with her, I guess she's gone without me.

God, I hate her and I fucking miss her, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do without her.

She took half of me with her when she went.

From down here, it looks like half of the City is on fire tonight. Which makes sense, when you think about it. People are falling apart, so they decided to take the city with them. If we're going down, we're going to take this motherfucker with us. Fucking A.

Be the trouble that you want to see in the world.  
We can't all of us be stars.

So I walk home with my hands in my pockets and I get out of the road as a fire truck goes barrelling past. One of the guys on the rig waves to me and I tip him a salute and smile. There's a little, lonely, heroic part of me that sort of wishes that I could be one of them, those guys piling off to actually save lives and shit, but I was a journalist, that was what I did, and now nobody can remember the last time a Newspaper went out because what's the point in writing the news when everyone knows the truth already?

We're fucked. We're all fucked.   
No point in writing about it.

You know what? It's hell being in love with a hero. Everybody loves a hero but nobody ever thinks about what it's like to live with them, do they? They're noisy and they take up so much fucking room and then, one day, you wake up and they're already gone and then what are you supposed to do? When I was a kid, I used to set fires. Now it's a struggle just to keep myself going, one step at a time.

I get home and the ghetto boys are shouting and cat-calling, wanting me to show them my tits or my cunt or something and all I do is smile and roll my eyes. Does this ever work on the real, living girls? I've only ever been in one relationship, and all she had to do was walk up to me and say "hi" and I got lost in her eyes or some romantic shit like that. I got caught by the fact that she looked like she _knew where she was going_. My problem was that I never knew where to go; her problem was that she had to figure out the way to get there.

I get the door open and I turn and wave at the guys across the street, tell them my name, and wonder what would happen if I actually flashed them. They'd probably run scared. I want to think she'd find that funny.

_I miss you, baby_.

I look up, tip my head back as far as it will go, and I imagine her barrelling through space, throwing off light like a dying star.


End file.
